You called her beautiful, but that’s not what she was.

She was fire and flood. her words pounded against the sand like waves.

Her hands created art from pain, each stroke a painful stitch.

Her thoughts were flames from a wildfire, taking the world by smoke and ash.

She was not beautiful, and anyone who called her that felt her wrath.

And colours stream in dreams and beams
Suffice to infinite ignite the sky
Inspires hearts to soar, take flight
In a dance, daze, dream of divine revelry
That lift one wondrous out the fight
Of hurricane raging by

Irrepressible, that honeyed bow
Wends through sky, celestial arc
Through which the cosmic fires go
Imbued with bright celestial spark
Dreaming, rocking to and fro
See how we go, on Love's arc
Stealthy on wing like crow

And colours stream in dreams and beams
Shine in spite of sceptics faith
Blaze in spite of eyes embrace
Celestial crown perfect, sense no bars or seams
What fine art could frame the face
Of the ravishing rainbow supreme
Which lifts one after tumbling from grace
Like Dorothy back to Earth from the most seismic dream